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CHAPTER ONE
‘HE’S YOURS, ROCCO. Find him...find him!’
The words pounded a relentless refrain in Rocco Vitelli’s head as his Gulfstream sped him in the opposite direction towards a destination that had been nowhere on his itinerary when he’d woken up that morning.
The photograph in his hand shook and he tightened his grip.
Impossible.
His grandmother’s words were simply...impossible.
Didn’t they say everyone had a twin somewhere in the world? Dio, even that extrapolation was too far-fetched. This picture was of a child. He was a grown man of thirty-three. This child had nothing to do with him. Nothing...
‘We’ll be landing shortly, signor. Is there anything you require?’ his attendant enquired.
Inform the pilot that I wish to change course immediately, he wanted to say. He held his tongue, his grandmother’s pale face etched in anguish fresh in his mind.
Jaw clenching, he closed his fist over the picture, hiding it from sight. Unfortunately, Nonna’s distressing words weren’t so easy to dismiss.
‘He’s yours. Find him!’
Ridiculous. If he had a son, a flesh and blood extension of him somewhere in this world, he would know...wouldn’t he?
A sudden wave of long-suppressed yearning swept through him, stealing his breath.
He would know. He was strict about taking precautions with his sexual partners. None of his liaisons in the recent past had lasted longer than a few weeks. And, by strict choice, none of them had been English.
He hadn’t set foot in England in years and he hadn’t taken an English lover since—
‘Signor?’
He sighed. ‘No, grazie.’
Just this once, he promised himself grimly. His grandmother rarely asked him for anything, not because he’d refuse, but because she insisted she needed nothing but the roof he’d provided over her head. After everything she’d sacrificed for him, running this fool’s errand, even though it lodged a fist of remembered bitterness in his gut, was necessary if only to reassure her.
This visit would be short, however. Whoever this child was, Rocco intended his presence in its life to be very brief indeed.
‘Has the driver been apprised of our destination?’ he asked.
‘Sì, signor. I emailed the details immediately after take-off.’
Satisfied, he nodded. Barring traffic, he should be back in the air within a few short hours. A quick detour via his Palermo villa to reassure Nonna there was no mysterious great-grandchild to be distressed about, and he could return to Abu Dhabi to oversee the final phase of the children’s hospital his company was building.
Wheels touched down with barely a bump. Before it had rolled to a stop, he was moving towards the exit. His car waited on the tarmac and he slid into the back seat, grateful for its warm interior. It was early autumn, yet the temperature was near freezing.
Easing back in his seat, he glanced once more at the photo. The cherubic features, the strange, yet familiar blue eyes of the ch
ild sent another stab of deep yearning through him.
No. He wouldn’t think of the past. Of her. The past was done, buried—
I don’t want your baby!
He clenched his teeth against the chilling words slicing through his thoughts. Why were memories he’d successfully expunged for years resurfacing, today of all days?
Grimly, he shoved the photo into his breast pocket and turned his thoughts to his grandmother.
Her hysteria over the billboard picture she’d spotted on the way to morning mass was beyond his understanding. Nonna had collapsed on the pavement, much to the distress of her companion, and no amount of reassurance had soothed her except Rocco’s promise, once he’d rushed to her side, that he would verify the child’s identity immediately.
